Ton
by angusmcdoodle
Summary: Chavlit basically


"**Ton"**

It is a rather ordinary Wednesday evening that this fateful tale begins, the once pleasant summer air had all at once, it seemed turned chill, and many people were surprised to notice that they should have worn an overcoat. The harsh November wind wafted the faint legacy of Guy Fawkes and the gloomy light hid the tall, bundled up shapes of night time venturers as they trudged wearily past the achingly inviting, ale tinged rooms of the Old Ton inn, on the high street of Tondwynlais.

As usual for a Wednesday evening, the pub is quiet. A man sits alone at the end of the bar contemplating the apparently interesting depths of his glass of dark ale. Another elderly man is slumped in a window seat; his shaggy lurcher pretends to listen intently as he consistently mutters incoherent abuse. The only life in this seemingly frozen environment comes from the animated conversation ensuing between two youngish lads. These boys, infamous in their small village, are given a wide berth by the rest of the pubs inhabitants. Even the ancient landlady, vast, intrepid, gives them a hesitant, nod when 'two more carlings please love' is barked across her bar. The Damage brothers never ask twice. They sit alone, unchallenged, a respectful distance given by the other patrons. This respect is not asked for, nor demanded neither, it is simply expected, and as a result freely given by the majority of the inhabitants of Ton. For these inhabitants know full well, too defy this unwritten rule would mean to instantly regret it.

Their conversation becomes steadily more heated as the amount of lager drank increases and the topics become more dangerous. The other patrons in the pub attempt to carry off the difficult task of listening whilst not obviously doing so, for to be caught would mean they could be thrust from the womb-like warmth of the pub into the swirling November winds outside. Few sentences reach their ears but the ones that do are intriguing, 'you stupid twat, what you go and do that for' the seemingly elder one, exclaims.

'It aint my fault bro, I can't help it, I reckon I loves her' the younger, stockier brother counters. The Damage brothers H and Paul look similar but harbour some very intriguing variations. Many people whisper about the possible difference in their parentage, but these whispers are kept as whispers and are always made certain never to reach the brothers ears. The older brother, H is golden haired, tall yet stocky with shoulders and arms like an ox. A legacy left him by his now wheel-chair bound father, and his days of hard labour hauling tiles as a roof-tiler. His Zeus like temper means he is often in trouble, and he is notorious for his terrible rage when provoked and confronted. Paul, the younger brother, is darker, shorter and stockier. A habitual marijuana smoker he is the more laid back brother, too lazy to get a job he is the constant bane of his matriarchal mother Myra. As the head of the family, Myra is kept constantly busy by the many spats her sons get into, her youngest; a girl named Anna, although quiet and beautiful is usually the reason for these many spats. Numerous men would risk the Damage brothers temper for one night with the exquisite cross between innocent child and newly emerging woman. Yet our tale does not centre on the love life of the youngest Damage member, but centre stage of this poor tragedy is given to her brainless brother, Paul, the habitually stoned lothario who simply cannot keep it in his pants.

Back in the Old Ton, the brothers' conversation is reaching dangerously animated levels. Inhabitants of Ton always enjoy the occasional occurrence of a fight between the two brothers. They are often quite imaginative and can carry on for some time until someone has the presence of mind to fetch Myra, who wades in like a nightclub bouncer, tending to give back as many punches as she gets. At the possibility of a Damage fight, the pubs patrons look on with ill-concealed excitement.

"H you just don't understand do ya mate, you aint never been in love, how would ya know what it feels like?" Paul accuses, banging his pint glass down on the table for emphasis. H's eyes narrow and he leans over to whisper,

"What about Abbey you nob? you knew I loved her, you bring this shit up everytime. But love can't conceal tha fact that Ellen is someone else's bird!" H's voice rises to a dangerous level as he shouts the last bit.

"Don't ya think I don't know that, I just cant help me' self though, I know she's Menahouse's bird, but she makes me happy, she's got a fucking great pair of tits…… and she's wild in the sack" Paul sorrowfully stares into the depths of his pint, he may only be 17 but has been drinking in the Old ton for 4 years, and can hold his own against any hardened drinker. Yet today the ale seems to be affecting him in weird ways and he feels almost sad for a few seconds. Seeing this unusual emotion in his brother, H ploughs on;

"Look, Paul, lil bro, you knows I loves ya, but I'm sure if MenaHouse finds out about this he'll kill ya",

"Which is exactly why I told you H, I know you'd be on me side and if there's two of us and then whats he gonna do?"

"Yeah true but we aint invincible and what about your greenz? it's difficult to find shit as decent as Menahouse's around here lately",

"ah see I thought about that, yeah its good shit but I can get soapbar off Nicky from Charles street, and at a discount cos I seen his mum knocking off the postman the other morning when I was out picking up off MenaHouse. Nicky aint gonna want anyone chin-wagging about that is he? And then eventually the dull shit menahouse will forget about me an Ellen and Ill be able to pick up greenz off him again. Oh and who's gonna sell all those ruckers he's always trying to get rid off? Only those pill'eds down the docks'll take them, and they only knows me…….."

"You knows too many pill'eds for your own good bro"

"Yeah but they comes in handy sometimes don't they?"

"Aw fuck I just remembered, you know I gets my roids off Sparky from outside the spar? Yeah well he gets them off Menahouse and I bets Menahouse knows I gets them off Sparky as well, he'll stop him selling them on if he finds out about your goings on……..You knows I got your back bro but I cant be having many more scraps, I love you an all but you knows I'm still on parole from clink. If the pigs catch me fighting again I'm going down straight away, no fucking question……." Resignedly H signals for another pint and they both stare at them in silence,

"Yeah I no that H, it was the worst time of my life when you was sent down…."

"Worst time of your fucking life?!"

"Ha-ha yeah but I don't want you to go down again, if sum-ing does kick off and the pigs turn up ill take the blame…….."

"I can't let my lil bro go to clink, was bad enough for me, not for a little pussy like you!...for Fucks sake bro couldn't ya have just shagged one of the Taffsward girls? They aint picky and they got longer opening times than this bloody pub!"

"It aint just about a shag H! I Love her? Geddit?" At this heartfelt statement from Paul the door is heaved open and in struts a distressed looking girl. She looks to be about eighteen but the depth and amount of her makeup means she could be any age from fourteen to twenty-two. Her long hair is a dyed a bright blonde and is scraped up into a tight, high ponytail which is set off with two inches of greasy brown roots. She wears a pink tracksuit, bright white trainers and a whole jeweller in heavy gold necklaces, earrings and rings. Her eyes immediately seek out Paul, whereupon she throws herself upon him and bursts into noisy, uncontrollable sobs. The words 'he knows', 'hit me' and 'gonna kill you' are eventually clear through her sobbing and an uncomfortable Paul seems at a loss of what to do.

"Come on now Ellen, calm'ed love its alrite, tell me what the bastard did……if he touched you I'll 'ave him I swear"

"Ha-ha whatever nob'ed you couldn't harm a fly" H injects good naturedly, the scene with Ellen seems to be amusing him, and for a minute he seems almost smug, as if he was right all along.

"fuck off H, this is serious, go look out the door, see if there's anyone around, I'll start murder if he tries anything" being the good brother he is, H stands and strolls over to the bay window, kicking the shabby lurcher belonging to the old drunk out of the way with a yelp. The street seems to be deserted no cars, no people, fallen leaves blow across the silent street.

"nope there's no-one abart bro" he says upon returning. Ellen still weeping, desperately clinging onto Paul, mutters something incoherent.

"Come on now babes, tell me what's happened?... He found out about us didn't he?",

"yeah, he found out, read your dirty texts on me phone……..and saw the photos…….I told you I didn't want no dirty videos taken of me but you must've hid the camera you sly bastard…….but anyway he saw them……went nuts……smacked me across the face…."

"He fucking what?!"

"Leave it bro, it aint important yet……." H sensibly interjects..

"What shit you been taking recently? Course it is, I'll have him I swear……" Paul states, looking with angry eyes at the dishevelled, mascara smudged Ellen sat on his knee.

"Shut up a minute will you babe? After he smacked me across the face, I went a bit mental, told him to fuck off. Told him I'm leaving him, that I didn't love him no-more, that I never really loved him…… And then he said he wouldn't let me, summink to do with his reputation, said if I ran off with you he'd hunt us both down and kill us, I ran then babe, and he was coming right after me……I don'ts want to die…..what about my kid…?"She asked. They sit in silence, all at a loss of what to do. After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, H seems to come to a conclusion, he pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and with a quiet 'bleep bleep' begins dialling numbers. Both Paul and Ellen understand what he has concluded and heave a sigh of relief, they will be safe. H's ensuing conversations all follow the same pattern of;

'Safe its Damage, what's 'appening? Yeah there might be a bit of trouble in the Old Ton in a bit, me and me bro might need a hand….fancy coming down for a bit of back-up?...I knows how you like a good barney…..ok well soon yeah?... And don'ts forget the knuckle dusters inni…."

Within ten minutes the pub seems to be filled with a medley of young men, all sporting tracksuits, baseball caps and extremely white trainers, most are carrying a weapon, hidden in the recesses of their knock-off kappa trackies.


End file.
